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HELLO. It has been quite some time since I last blogged. So for those of you who can’t fucking remember. I am called Rooster.

It’s been a little over a year it seems. I wish I had a valid excuse to provide you wonderful homo sapiens with, but alas, I do not. Shit fucking HAPPENS OKAY!? GET OFF MY FUCKING ASS.

No but really. I just stopped. I don’t have an explanation. But I am now fucking back. Back like Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger. So consider this season 2 of Rooster’s Man Blog. I hope to take you on a trip on my metaphorical magic carpet. One that you will never forget.

So to start, I am going to take us back a ways. Back to the days of young Rooster. Little fucking loud shithead young Rooster.

If you’ve read my blogs from last season, you will remember what Dumbass is. But for the sake of story, I will assume that NOBODY FUCKING READ ANYTHING EVER.

Dumbass is what we used to call ourselves. We were those little dumbass fucking white kids. We idolized Jackass for some reason. And the most fun we could possibly fucking have was doing stupid ass shit that made adults look at us in fucking shame. Like we were goddamned delinquents.

Which I assure you we only kind of were. But in actuality we were the sweetest little bunnies that any parents could ask for. Scratch that last. I’d rather be a fucking kitten.

SO moving on. This dates back to when we were 16. These were the days of waking up early to skateboard all fucking day. Something I could not fucking do now. Seeing as I’m a lazy assfuck. But at the end of this day, we found ourselves at PornStar’s Dad’s house.

PornStar had the most brilliant fucking idea. Seriously. You’re about to read this idea and your mind is going to fucking EXPLODE into tiny little brains that you will then have to search out so you still have full brain capacity.

The idea. Build an obstacle course in the hallway in his basement. And then complete the obstacle course in absolute fucking darkness. And when I say obstacle course, I really mean throw a bunch of random ass shit all over the hallway and try and run to the other side and back without dying.

I’ll wait a second so you can pick up your brain. I know it’s likely difficult to continue reading when you’re partly fucking brain damaged.

OKAY. So it is literally NOT FUCKING POSSIBLE.

When I say darkness, I mean complete fucking darkness. Like as dark as The Governor’s fucking soul.

If you don’t get that reference then I hate you until you watch The Walking Dead.

So yes, not something that’s possible. Which I suppose we knew from the beginning. And that’s usually why we did these stupid fucking stunts. But we tried.

So PornStar went first. I couldn’t see, obviously, due to there being no fucking light. But I could hear it.

PornStar: *CRASH. BANG.* FUCK. FUCKKKK. WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

This is all I hear from the hallway. Continuously. And it’s not a long fucking hallway, so I expected him back relatively quickly. But I’m pretty sure it took him about a fucking minute.

So he comes falling out of the darkness at our feet. Looking like he just ran through hell.

And now it’s my turn. Now due to the darkness, I have no visual memory of this. But I did have sensation. I can say, that I am not about to exaggerate how fucking difficult this was.

I start running through, and fucking immediately trip over I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT. Luckily though. I had NOTHING TO BREAK MY FUCKING FALL. So my face slams into the fucking wall.

And I’m screaming this entire time. Tripping and stumbling and running into fucking EVERYTHING that we put in this hall way. And when I make it to the other side, I’m thinking. I can make it back easier. I remember where everything is. You Fucking got this Rooster!

FUCKING WRONG. IT PROBABLY TOOK ME FUCKING LONGER TO GET BACK. Fucking stumbling and crashing into everything I hit on the way in. And by the end I had completely given up, and came fucking crawling out of that hallway. And there PornStar and Granola are. Laughing there motherfucking asses off.

So now it is Granola’s turn.

And this is where the TRUE point of the story comes in.

The motherfucking DOUBLE WHAMMY BITCHES.

Right before Granola was getting ready to take his turn. PornStar and I put our plan into motion. When he wasn’t paying attention. We went into the hallway and moved all this fucking shit we put into the rooms on the side. So this way he would have nothing blocking his way.

Now this wasn’t simply just to make him think he succeeded. Ohhhhhh no. Noooooooo nonononono. No it’s more than that.

So Granola gets ready. If I remember correctly, I’m pretty fucking sure he warmed up like a fucking bull.

And he takes off at fucking Warp Speed fuck. And we can hear him rejoicing as he’s running and not hitting anything. He thinks he just owned the fucking shit out of us. That he succeeded where alllll else failed.

But no. Because we are fucking terrible assholes.

CRRRRRRAAAAACK.

Granola comes sprinting from the hallway, only to have his shins connect with two metal rods. TWO METAL FUCKING RODS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH US!?!@#@

PornStar and I hid on both sides of the hallway at the end. And just as Granola returned, we swung these two rods simultaneously into his fucking shins. He fucking flew through the air like he thought he was fucking Superman. He screamed in such surprised agony that we fucking died. We were laughing so hard at his misery. So fucking hard. Because we are terrible fucking people.

I think he was mad at first. I mean. I don’t know why he wouldn’t be. But being 16 year old fucking dipshits, this didn’t matter. And the anger passed. And now we have this story. The story of the double whammy.

How is that an acceptable turn of events!? If we did that to someone now, they’d probably have broken their leg and fucking killed us. Instant end of friendship. At least for a little while. Until we bring flowers and a pocket pussy to him in the hospital. Just to cheer him up.

I fucking love Karaoke. I can hardly claim that I’m a good singer. But I love the fuck out of doing it. So that doesn’t matter. Because karaoke exists. And I fucking love karaoke. In case I haven’t mentioned that.

So I’m pretty sure it’s obvious this is gonna be about karaoke. WELL FUCK YOU. I don’t play the obvious. The obvious can suck me off and spit in your face.

Woah.

Jesus. I’m so sorry for that. Just imagine I’m backspacing over that sentence. Or don’t. If like….you swing that way. Or whatever.

So friday night a big group of us head out for a karaoke night. Remicks, of late, has become extremely acquainted with a group of Asians. He’s been working at Blowfish’s restaurant for a while, so he’s become the white friend that accompanies them to all the Asian events. And apparently they do karaoke like it’s a religion.

And a fun little tidbit. They make him rap Eminem while they drink. So he’s like their white entertainment. And this is according to Remicks himself.

So the place that Remicks takes us to is in the heart of Chinatown in Montreal. And it is fucking NOTHING like we expected. I don’t even know what the fuck we expected. The place is a private karaoke joint. You rent out sick ass rooms and sing your fucking hearts out with your friends while drinking your life away.

This we expected.

But when we get there, from the outside, it looked like nothing. Walking down this random ass street, you’d have no idea there’s a fucking karaoke place. And when we walk in the door, it’s like the inside of a fucking strip mall. All these shops boarded up and rather ghetto. I was genuinely concerned I just walked onto the fucking Walking Dead.

So we’re standing there. Grunting and moaning. Eating the shopkeepers and whatnot. You know how it is.

We hear this terrible drone of singing drift up from downstairs. There’s this creepy ass stairwell in the middle of the area, and it turns out, the karaoke place is down this staircase. Still no fucking sign though. But whatever.

So we head down and the place turns from beatdown Chinese strip mall to this fucking lit up karaoke joint. It was so well camouflaged we couldn’t fucking believe it was even there. And as soon as we walk down, we’re already in the minority. I got this feeling the place isn’t used to big groups of non Asians. And we were fucking 20 people give or take.

So we get to our room all the way in the back. A lot of us are already in there. And the singing gets started. We order a shit fuck ton of alcohol. Rum and beer and some kinda high fucking class whiskey or whatever that Remicks wanted us to drink. And everybody starts to get fucking loaded.

Remicks becomes the intense guy that he is. Well. Fuck that. He’s already that intense guy. He didn’t just fucking stop before this point of the story. But he’s screaming at everyone, trying to get the group to pay the fuck attention. His goal is to school us in the ways of the Asian dice games that have gotten him so fucked up on a number of occasions.

But by this time. Our buddy Yams has already started his raping of the karaoke machine. And everyone else was soon to follow. But Yams. This fucking guy is the motherfucking MVP of the fucking night. All night this motherfucker sung his life away. Rapping, singing, fucking dancing or what the fuck ever. He wrecked it. Made that shit his bitch.

FlipSide and I end up having to break our seals rather early. So we find our way to the washroom. And there’s a line for the urinals. So we’re standing there for a couple minutes and new Asian dudes keep coming in and going in front of us. And I’m gonna throw it all out there, we were very intimidated. Some of these guys were rather intense. Some Yakuza fucking Triad type of shit. Which I could totally be entirely wrong about. But. You know. Fuck danger.

We stood there, both contemplating what step to take. We looked at each other with questioning looks.

FlipSide: Yaaaaaaa. Wanna go piss outside?

Rooster: Fuck yea I do.

So we peaced the fuck out. Went into the freezing cold, no coats, and pissed in the street.

So the booze is dwindling down quite quickly. Bitches be running wild and fucking hoes.

That’s not true. But. That alcohol gut fucking DRANK. But to my utter fucking dismay. After a couple rum and cokes, I realized tonight is not gonna be a drinking night for me. One of those fucking nights that the booze makes you feel sick before you’re even fucking drunk. Which blows whale ass. And whales don’t enjoy that shit. So that’s fucking dangerous. And there’s fucking danger everywhere.

So I stop drinking and start working the machine. Throwing song after song into the cue. And the setlist at this place is not good. One of the worst group of fucking options I’ve seen. But I threw all that shit in there anyways and the fucking entire group benefited. All the random music coming on couldn’t have been better for the atmosphere.

But it wasn’t working for me. Fucking shit fuck fucking fuck fuck fuck. Not being drunk was not resonating with my loveable self. And something had to be done.

And what’s the best remedy? Let’s get fucking hiiiiiiiigh.

I came prepared. With a nice dub ready to send us to the fucking clouds. And it turns out, I wasn’t alone in this thought. Another bro you haven’t been introduced to yet, Suffix, the beautiful mind he is, also had a joint handy. So we grab some of the usuals and head upstairs, Hurley, Aces, Remicks, Mars. Spark some cigars and cigarettes and get the joints doing their rounds. Some of us smoking outside, some inside. Because we’re cool like that.

That’s not true. It’s cause we’re allowed. At this place they allow smoking indoors. So keep that in mind as this story progresses.

So like I said. I wasn’t able to get drunk. But, fortunately for me, the ganja. Oh the ganja changed that. I didn’t have to be drunk. I was tipsy enough for the pot to fucking boost my shit into outer fucking space.

After this little session, we stormed back into that place like a fucking stampede. Aces was drunker than me before we smoked, and he ran in fucking yelling and hit one of the closed up shops at full speed. And we weren’t far behind. We fucking careened around the corner of the staircase and fucking sprinted down into that place. And it was obvious to the slowly increasing number of patrons, that we were becoming outrageous. Conspicuous. Super fucking explosive obnoxious, if you will.

And from this point on, shit went bananas. This fucking room was like a giant benefit concert. FUCKING EVERYONE was singing. And Yams was at the fucking head of the fucking herd.

Yams the MVP. Massive Vagina Prince.

Close behind him were Remicks and Suffix. Those guys were so into it it was inspirational. And it fed the fucking souls of everyone else there. Everyone became so into the Karaoke. And the best example. Survivor. By Destiny’s Child.

And that wasn’t the end of it. Fucking Akon and Eminem were there. The Beatles made an appearance. Our buddy CAB fucking owned the shit out of Deep Purple. The Backstreet Boys, obviously. What’s karaoke without the fucking Backstreet Boys?

And while all this is happening everyone’s fucking drinking their faces to the floor. People are smoking fucking everywhere. When we would go from our room into the hall outside it had become fucking PACKED. Asians everywhere. Along with the occasional honkie like us. Smoking up a storm. It was like a fucking tobacco hotbox.

Going into the hall was like walking into a fucking club. The contrast was incredulous.

And this entire time. I’m fucking HIGH. Fucking blasted to shit. I’m in the room while everyone’s singing their voices hoarse, screaming and getting in peoples faces. And I get the urge to do MY fucking karaoke.

Those of you who know me, know what I’m talking about. I can fucking scream. And I love it. And in small quantities it’s fucking great. But that night. I put fucking 5 Linkin Park songs in a row. Screaming my fucking life out. One Step Closer comes on and I’m so fucking into it it’s like nobody’s even in the room with me.

Rooster: SHUT UP WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUUUUUUT UUUUUP! AND I’M ABOUT TO BREAK!

I was ready to fucking go again, when Remicks comes up to me.

Remicks: Dude. Rooster man. You gotta stop.

So I put on The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars. And SCREAM the shit out of it.

And I’m sitting with Mars and CAB, and Mars is taking photos of them with her camera. I’m not paying much attention. I dunno what the fuck was happening in my mind. But she gets my attention. Screaming.

Mars: ROOSTER! OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS.

And she proceeds to show me a picture. This picture. Is the fucking picture. To master all fucking pictures. And in my state of mind. I couldn’t even handle it. It fucked my face and smacked it against the kitchen sink.

So the night’s coming close to an end. And Remicks, somehow, has managed to get some motherfuckers CULTURED.

He’s got the dice game going with Aces, FlipSide, and TBG. And if you think they’re fucked before this game. FUCK THAT. I don’t know how the game works, but those guys got goddamned cultured. Whatever the fuck that means.

As a couple of us are leaving to go catch a cab, Aces comes over. And he is fucking PLASTERED.

It was intense. And fucking hilarious. And I’m told his level of drunkenness progressed to the point of being fucking sick. And on the ride home, sick ass Aces fucking pulls out a Samuel Adams in the fucking car. Fucking joker.

On top of this, on our way out of this place. The funniest cab fucking moment ever occurred. We’re stumbling onto a random street. And this cab is driving towards us, so we flag it down.

But I realize that on the top, it doesn’t have a taxi sign. Is has this lit up advertisement for lawyers or some shit. And this fucks me up. And I stop.

Rooster: Wait. Is this even a fucking cab?

The cab driver gets out and I’m still hesitating. I swear to fucking Eugene Levy, I was so confused, I thought this was a fucking lawyer car. I thought this guy was getting out to offer us lawyer services. That was my train of fucking thought.

And while this is happening the cab driver is opening the door for us and getting ready to let us in. And my train of thought makes CAB think with me.

CAB: HEY. Hey is this a cab?

Driver: What?

CAB: Is this a cab? It says lawyers on the top.

Driver: Of course this is a cab. That’s just advertising.

I was fucking DYING. I couldn’t even get in the car I was laughing so hard. And the cab driver. Oh man the cab driver. He looked at us like we were fucking assholes. Fucking dumb pieces of shit. And obviously. He’s kinda right.

Oh. And just as a final note. Great night. Fucking AMAZING memory. Super beast time. But. One problem. Everyone had to go and fucking sing Call Me Maybe.

FUCK CALL ME MAYBE. Seriously. Fuck that fucking song. It is the downfall of the entire fucking universe.

So. It’s been a while. It seems I have taken some sort of hiatus that I didn’t intend to take. I apologize to the 4 of you. I’LL GET MY FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER OKAY!? FUCK. Cough. Uh.

Yes, so I have a few stories I’m going to start working on. But in the meantime I’ll leave you crazy batches with something to bide the time.

I’m not sure if you’re aware. But I’m a writer. Yes. I know. Fucking surprised your ass eh? Believe it or not I haven’t always written these entirely inappropriate and fucking curse filled stories.

So I’ll share one with you that I think is fucking awesome as fucking AWESOME.

And yes.

It is a Star Wars short story.

Nerds betta fucken recognize. K PEACE.

Tense. Breaths coming slowly, but heavily. He stood there, his eyes piercing the other’s. He didn’t feel he was ready for this, his master had high confidence in him, but he thought it was misplaced.

He felt his lightsaber heavy at his side. Standing there, trying to stay calm, but sure that his opponent could tell he was not. He tried prying into his opponent’s mind, but his force barriers were too strong. This only reinforced his thinking. “I’m not ready”, he thought.

His opponent felt the words emanate from his mind, and knew this was the time to strike. Before Jacen could tell what was happening, Preygan was lunging, with his lightsaber held high and strong above his head. It was an aggressive lightsaber style, one used by servants of the dark side.

Jacen summoned the force and sent a gust of wind towards Preygan, but Preygan was too strong, and with a swoosh of his hand sent the gust flying to the left. This caught Jacen off guard, and he did not have enough time to bring up a defensive block with his lightsaber.

His lightsaber unclipped from his belt, and flew to his hand, but before he had time to ignite his blade, Preygan was on him.

Jacen screamed as Preygan’s glowing red lightsaber pierced through his shoulder. It was one of the worst sensations Jacen had ever felt. It was as if the wound was burning him, but freezing him simultaneously. Jacen opened his eyes and looked into Preygan’s. His eyes were orange, and his pupils were slits.

Preygan removed the lightsaber from Jacen’s shoulder, and stepped back. He slid his left foot back, and bent his right knee low. He raised his lightsaber above his head, pointing it outward in the direction of Jacen.

Jacen knew he was toying with him. He felt the wound in his shoulder, it was cold, he could not move his arm. He summoned the force and flipped himself back, a distance away from Preygan. Standing upright, Jacen looked down at the ground, calming himself, and let his arms fall to his side. He flicked his right wrist outwards and a silver beam of light erupted from the hilt of his lightsaber. He looked up at Preygan, feeling more confident now.

Preygan seemed intrigued. His head tilted to the side at the sight of his opponent, just standing there, no stance. He was unable to see his intentions. His mouth twisted into a haggard grin, baring his sharp teeth. “More of a challenge” he thought.

He sprinted towards Jacen. Jacen just stood, watching as the Sith raced towards him. Yelling, Preygan brought up his blade, and slashed down at Jacen. With remarkable speed Jacen swung his lightsaber up and the two blades clashed in a brilliant void of silver and ruby.

It was a remarkable scene, as the two beings avoided each other’s blows, blocking, twisting, and striking. The two lightsabers struck time and time again. The sounds of the lightsaber hissing and buzzing as they struck.

Just as it seemed the fight could go on forever, Preygan blocked one last strike by Jacen. He was lower, bent down, and he spun out of the lightsaber lock. Bringing his lightsaber to slash Jacen’s stomach, and then his right knee.

Jacen yelped and fell to the ground. Lying on his back clutching his stomach, with his lightsaber still ignited in his right hand, he looked at Preygan. “Do your worst.” he said.

Jacen anticipated Preygan’s worst, he knew how he slaughtered his most prized opponents.

Preygan flipped his lightsaber twice around his fingers, then holding it pointing downwards, with his two hands grasping the hilt, he stabbed downwards towards Jacen’s face.

Jacen, anticipating this, moved his head out of the way just in time, and grabbing Preygan’s wrist, brought his lightsaber slashing through his forearm. Preygan staggered back, staring in shock at where his hand used to be.

Jacen pressed the button on Preygan’s lightsaber hilt, and his blade shrunk into the hilt. He sent it careening like a bullet towards his foe. Just as it hit Preygan’s chest, the Ruby blade exploded from the hilt and tore through skin, muscle, bone. Erupting from his back. Standing there, surprised, he looked down at the hilt. Feeling the similar feeling Jacen felt just minutes before.

Feeling weak, the only thing on his mind was revenge. As he sprinted once again towards Jacen, Jacen rolled out of the way and sliced through Preygan’s left calf and upwards through his right knee. Preygan flew forwards and landed on his back, the blade protruding from him, tearing through the floor.

Clutching his stomach and faring his left leg, Jacen got up and walked over to the body of Preygan. He could hear the low hum of the blade lodged in his chest and into the ground below him. He pressed the button on his blade and felt his own lightsaber hiss to a stop.

Thinking on how he felt before the fight, he collapsed to the ground as darkness surrounded him.

I’m gonna throw myself under the bus here. I’ve mentioned before, (See the entry Pick Up Fuck), that I have an absentminded retardobrain. I wish I properly understood the inner workings of my wonderful noggin. But I do not. And believe me, it’s not for fucking lack of trying. I have spent time analyzing how I live. How I act. How I walk and talk and fucking breath.

And somehow I still trip up the fucking stairs. I still walk into fucking fire hydrants. I still stub my toe on something that’s not even fucking there.

It makes no sense to me. I don’t feel dumb. Or absentminded. I mean no lack of modesty, but I’m an intelligent guy. I know a lot of shit. It might sometimes not be the most practical shit. But I’m sure you can tell by my writing that I’m not a retard. Entirely. I hope. You don’t think I’m a retard do you?

Well if you do I’m not about to help myself.

So here’s my story.

A couple weeks ago or so, my Father says to me.

Dad: Rooster. There’s two jugs of windshield washer fluid in the front. You can take one.

Sick. I totally needed some windshield washer fluid. Whenever I run out I don’t remember to refill for like a week. So obviously, I forget for another couple days.

Couple days pass. And one morning as I zombie my way out the door I remember to grab a jug. Now you need to know, when I wake up. I’m fucking dead. If I’m absentminded when I’m awake, well, let’s multiply that fucking tenfold when I’m waking up. As if that will excuse my actions.

So this action is a stray from my morning routine. And in my morning state, I am entirely a fucking creature of habit. But this isn’t a difficult action. So I open my hood, fill the washer fluid tank, and head out.

Later in the day while I’m driving, I try and spray my windshield. And am entirely surprised to find it’s not working. And I’m like fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Another goddamned problem with my car? FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

So I tell the rents of the newest automotive issue. And I make the mental note to call my mechanic once I remember to stop procrastinating. My mechanic, being PornStar. Who is probably right now hearing this story for the first time. But I totally procrastinated. Until one day. This occurred.

Dad: WHERE THE FUCK IS THE OTHER JUG OF MOTOR OIL!?

Hold on now. I know what you readers just realized. I’m getting there.

Dad: THERE WERE FUCKING TWO IN THE PORCH! WHERE’S THE SECOND ONE.

Now the first time it didn’t hit me. But the second time he said something. Well. The realization came. Oh it fucking came. And my mind must not have wanted to accept it at first. Because it still took a minute or so for me to make the goddamned connection.

Rooster: Oh no.

Dad: Seriously. Do you know what happened?

Rooster: Oh no.

My mother hears me say this at this point. And makes the connection fucking immediately. Her eyes widen and she looks at me in disbelief.

Mom: No. You didn’t……

I look at her with this hopeless look in my eyes. I can barely even fathom the mistake that I have made. How is this even possible.

Mom: MARTIN! MARTIN!

My father comes in the kitchen and looks at us. Me standing there looking entirely fucking lost. And my mother looking at him with wide eyes. As if in shock. And we didn’t even have to say anything for HIM to make the fucking connection. I look at him slowly and he’s looking at me with this tiny subtle smirk on his face. And he shakes his head and heads out the door.

Mom: Rooster. You know you’re the only one who could do this right? You’re never going to live this one down.

And she picks up her phone to call her best friend and tell her the news.

That’s right. In case YOU guys have not made the connection yet. I poured almost an entire jug of motor oil into the tub for windshield washer fluid. And fucked up the whole system. THIS is why it wouldn’t work when I tried to use it. BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING MOTOR OIL.

And the rents were hardly even surprised. Even though it is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done. It still only mildly surprised them. Because this is how their Son is.

And how did this affect me you ask? Well you might not be asking this. But I fucking was. I was fucking wrecked. How the fuck did I do this? How could I make this mistake? How am I fucking like this? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!?

Seriously. I hate it. And I fucking cannot fucking figure it fucking out. I’m not a dumb person. I promise you. I KNOW WHAT WINDSHIELD WASHER FLUID LOOKS LIKE. I fucking know what motor oil looks like. I’ve had a car for fucking two years. I have filled those tanks over and over and over again.

Washer fluid is fucking BLUE. IT’S BLUE YOU STUPID FUCK!

This is what was going through my head when I realized what I had fucking done. I legitimately rethought my entire fucking life. I’m fucking broken. That must be it. I’m a broken fucking thing. Goddammit.

Anyways it boils down to me being an absentminded motherfuck. That morning I must have been so fucking tired that I saw the two bottles of motor oil. And all I remembered was my father saying there’s two bottles. So I just automatically grabbed one. I didn’t look at the label. I didn’t realize the bottle was gray. And even when I was pouring it. I fucking remember stopping to think. Why the fuck is it coming out so fucking slow. Like fucking syrup. But still I didn’t process that it was a clear fluid and not blue.

I just shrugged off the fucking doubt, and kept on pouring.

I wish this was all a valid excuse for being King Fucking Dumbass. But it’s not.

I dunno about you but I totally do. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I doubt it. Logically speaking, it makes no sense to me that we’re the only fucking things in this verse.
And on top of that our planet is so fucking bullshit. Ugly piece of shit this is.

I’ve said countless times. I wish I was born however many years in the future. When intergalactic space travel is discovered.

INTERGALACTIC SPACE TRAVEL. My fucking favorite three words to say.

I have a dream! A dream that consists of me being the captain of a small wanton crew of misfits. Traversing the stars in an awesomely fucking awesome little ship that owns your face.

But unfortunately. I am one with a dream that he can never fulfill. Unless one of you has discovered time travel. If so. CALL ME.

But that’s unlikely. So we’re stuck. Here. In the now. With one of the biggest questions out there.

ARE WE ALONE?

Fuck you we’re not.

I dunno where they are. If they’ve really already made contact. Or if they know we’re here or whatever the fuck.

But what if they are here already? What if they have made contact? And what if they’re just the biggest fucking trolls we’ve ever encountered?

Think about it. Think about the modern fascination with UFOs, or “Flying Saucers”. The first, most well documented sighting being in 1947, where a pilot reported seeing 9 objects shooting through the sky at a fucking estimated 1000 miles per hour. That’s some fucking TRIPPY shit. But there are even more reports dating even further back closer to 1900. And even in fucking ancient history and shit.

But let’s take into account the last hundred years or so. All these accounts of sightings and people flipping the fuck out. “I’ve been abducted!” “I saw a UFO!” “ALIENS EXIST! BLINK 182 WAS RIGHT!”

What if, for the past hundred years, these fucking Aliens have just been fucking with us. What if they’re just a bunch of jokers. They’re not evil. They’re not looking to conquer us. They’re just a bunch of fucking trolls.

That’s their prime fucking directive. Troll the shit out of the fucking human race.

They’re up there. In their fucking AWESOME ass space ships. With gold plated thrusters. And MASSIVE fucking subwoofers. Smoking their alien dope and laughing their fucking asses off. If they even have asses. Which they probably don’t.

That’s what is happening people. Us humans are fucking tripping balls. And have been for a hundred years. And it’s all for those stoned motherfucking aliens’ entertainment.

So this is gonna be a short one. I’ve had a recent experience that must be shared, seeing as it is FUCKING JOKES.

So here’s the deal. Friday night I’m out with a couple of my buddies for some drinking and drinking and like. More drinking and stuff. It was good drinking.

The night itself was decent, nothing outrageous. So the whole night doesn’t make a blog entry. Getting drunk and stumbling around doing random fucking shit isn’t all that interesting on paper. Though in practice it’s fucking sweet as shit. Shit isn’t that sweet. I should probably say. Sweet as marshmallows.

Anyways. We’re at a random bar. I don’t remember where. And when I’m drunk I do enjoy a nice cigar. So Aces and I step outside for a smoke.

We’re standing there next to an alleyway, and this fucking drunken large ass Asian guy stumbles down the street and turns toward the alleyway. It actually means nothing that he’s Asian. And doesn’t forward this story at fucking all. But he’s Asian, and I’m very meticulous with my details. So fuck you.

As he’s passing us he gets mad fucking close and sticks his face right in our faces, and just stumbles on. Aces and I think this is fucking jokes, so we watch him stumble. And he stops mid alleyway and starts pissing. Facing the other way, obviously. We saw no shaft. Don’t worry.

And when he’s finished he stumbles back and stops at us. Now this guy is FUCKED. Fucking TrainWreckFucked. He stood there fucking staring in our faces, eyes barely focusing on the two of us standing there. I could literally see his pupils dilate as he tried to look into our eyes or whatever shit this motherfucker was trying to do.

Rooster: Yo man. You okay there? You havin a good night?

LargeAsian: MMMMMMMRRRGMMGGMMMGGGG

That’s what he fucking said. I swear. Mmmmmmmrrrgmmggmmmgggg. It was fucking elaborate.

He looked at us a few more seconds and then tried to walk away. But instead he kind of just, stood in place and did some kind of fucking feet shuffle. Which didn’t get him anywhere. And he looked back up at us with this look of surprise on his face. Like he thought he walked away, only to realize he didn’t fucking go anywhere.

And I swear to you. He fucking grabs the cigar from my hand. Continues looking in our faces, and without even glancing at it, puts it in the pocket of his hoodie.

My fucking lit cigar. He fucking put my lit cigar into his hoodie. And he did this like it was the most fucking normal thing he could have done. Like he was just checking the time or some shit. That’s just what he does with fucking cigars. Obviously.

Aces and I fucking cracked the fuck up. It was unavoidable. Did this just actually fucking happen?

And when we laugh he looks at us like he wants to kill us. But that quickly passes. He mumbles some more nonsense. And he just ambles away into the darkness of Montreal.

As you can see. This had to be shared. I really hope he enjoyed my cigar. He deserves it.

Alright. So. It’s 4:20 right now which is fucking appropriate. This is an experiment. We’ll call it a social experiment. This entry may be a complete fail. Or it may be entirely fucking brilliant. Personally, I’m hoping for the latter.

So right now, I’m sitting with the bossman Remicks. And the plan for tonight? Edible marijuana motherfuckers. We are currently in the beginning stages of making a nice batch of fucking pot brownies. Hurley, FlipSide, and two new faces, Sink and Greek , will be joining us a little later. And we’re gonna trip our balls out of our sacks.

Now to do this properly, you gotta extract the THC from the ganja. As you can see below, one method to do this, is to simmer your pot in vegetable oil, and use that shit to make your fucking glory cakes.

We’ve done this in the past, I’ll tell you about it sometime. But for the sake of this blog, I’ll tell you it was not much of a success. Seeing as we made the mistake of baking our weed straight into the brownies. Which is a no go if you wanna do this properly. So here’s hoping for success.

So the experiment? It’s simple. To see if I can successfully document this night, throughout, while it’s happening. Obviously you can see the possible fuck ups here. If the brownies work. We’re gonna be hiiiiiiiigh. But I will do my best to keep returning to this page. And by tomorrow morning, I will either have the jokesest fucking shit I’ve ever read. Or not.

So, it’s 4:53 now. We’re gonna put these fucken brownies in the oven, and get back to you in a few hours.

7:28 – The brownies look fucking legit. I’m mad down. I’m just back now from a birthday dinner with the fam, and Remicks, FlipSide, Hurley, and his girlfriend Domo are sitting in front of me. Eating a fucken crazy Mexican Fiesta.

Fucking remicks has been hitting bong while I’ve been gone. The guy fucking used the weed leftover from straining the vegetable oil. Which is fucking stank as shit. And to my fucking hilarious surprise, the motherfucker has changed into super hipster Remicks.

8:33 – It is now go time. Sink and Greek have arrived. And these fucking brownies are going into our mouths, down our throats. And directly into our fucking MINDS.

Remicks interlude here.

So my buddy Aces texts me yo I want some “genoux brun” and I show it to Rooster.

Rooster: yo wtf is genoux brun.

Remicks: what is genoux?

Rooster: I don’t know.

Remicks: Genoux is knee

Rooster: brown knees? what the fuck is brown knees?

Remicks: are you fucking serious?

Interlude finished.

9:30 Yes. I fell for that shit. I don’t think I’m that high yet. Actually. Maybe I am. This is a difficult decision to make.

No. Ya. I’m totally high as shit. I came to this computer so I can type something super jokes that just happened. I think Greek was doing something weird. Wait. Here.

Rooster: Dude. What are you doing?

Greek: Tickling Sink.

And then we collectively died.

But my mind isn’t working on 100% right now. Some gears are blocked or some shit. I don’t even know what I’m saying.

What the fuck?

I’m tripping balls.

And as I’m writing here Hurley starts narrating my life or some shit. And upon realizing this, I fucking laughed to shit, and fell over. His words?

Hurley: Rooster just died in a mess of THC and sexstasy.

1051: Ya. I don’t feel like doing this anymore. Exeripment failed. I don’t feel like doing this anymore.

Im fucking high as shit. And other stuff happened that makes a story, but I can’t recall it at the moment. Do to highness.

Signing out.

Rooster is lost to us. All he has left is the desire to write this blog.

42.7 minutes earlier.

Rooster: Yo Remicks, can I have another brownie?

Remicks: Yeah sure why not.

Rooster fought the desire and tried not to eat for a total length of 12 minutes.

He ate the brownie

Now, 54.7 minutes from then, ten minutes since i started writing. Rooster yelled out how he wanted to write all of it down on his blog.

I leave you now, when he see’s this he will freak out and you will see the consequences. Out.

As you can see, the experiment was a fail. But totally also not. It’s fucking hilarious. I can say that without being fucking cocky. Cause this blog entry fucking kills me. Best way it could have possibly turned out. I hope it wasn’t too incomprehensible.

So it’s a beautiful rainy ass day here in Montreal. And today, I am going to take you on another adventure. So let’s hop in our fucking tricked out time machines and jump back a year or so. I’m gonna tell you a fucking jokes story and you’re gonna shit laughter out your ass.

So I’m taking us back to a certain birthday event that I am fucking never gonna live down. I am rather embarrassed about my behaviour this night. I was a complete goddamned disaster.

So the birthday girl. Princess. You’ve been introduced to her in a previous story. For her 20th birthday, we all go out to a place called Candi Bar. This place is trippy as fuck. When you walk in, you’re fucking overwhelmed with pink. And I’m not talking about vagina.

The place is like an overdose of estrogen. All the tables have gumball machines. The stools are modelled after women’s legs. The urinals in the washrooms are open lips with bright red lipstick. And as I mentioned before, there’s pink everywhere. Pink walls. Pink ceiling. Pink lights. And lot’s of fucking women. Everywhere. It’s one of the only places I’ve ever fucking been where the men were out fucking numbered by female presence. So I suppose in that retrospect, “pink everywhere”, also applies. Allow me to example you.

So we have a reserved table in one of the corners. And we all get settled in. Some of the usuals are there. Granola, FlipSide, and PornStar, Princess’ boyfriend. As well as a few of Princess’ friends.

So we get two bottles. Which, given that we’re not at the fucking liquor store, costs fucking 200 dollars fucking each. Fuck. And a number of people had bailed on the night, so paying this amount was fucking incredibly difficult. And this lead to a few of us having to pay 80 bucks or 100 bucks or whatever. I won’t speak for any others, but I was fucking pissed. And to make matters more fucked, I was recently the victim of a huge relationship fail. So, emotionally, I was kind of a disaster.

So needless to say, I fury drank up a motherfucker in that bitch.

And I wasn’t the only one. The group of us drank that shit like water. Shot after shot. Drink after drink. So fucking fast that the entire group of us just got smashed as shit. Well, at least I did. And a lot of it is a big jumble of memory.

This fucking place fills up like crazy on a good night. The layout of the place is like a bar, but by 11 it turns into a fucking club. The entire floor of the place becomes a dance floor. And moving through it is like trying to push yourself through a brick fucking wall.

And this is Fucked up Rooster level 1: TipsyButNotDrunk

So we’re all fucking moving around, girls are dancing, and I’m fucking screaming. As many of you may know, I’m known as the loud one. Even when I talk my volume knob is turned to fucking full. I can’t help it. I wish I could, but no matter how hard I try, I revert back to my standard volume level. It’s totally my fault. I’ve raped my ears with enormously loud music over the years. But I enjoy it that way, so consider is statutory rape. If you please.

And when I’m drunk, I have no control over the level of my voice. None whatsoever. So being at level one, I’m fucking tipsy as shit. And I’m sitting next to FlipSide, and some guy that’s part of a group next to us. Now I’m a fucking lovable drunk. And I have no problem with making gay jokes towards friends of mine. On occasion it can be too much to handle for certain friends. But this time it was not directed towards one of my friends.

So I’m not sure what happened, but I’m pretty sure I drunkenly bumped the guy next to me. And he made some joke about it. And I responded with something along the lines of…

Rooster: Sorry man. I couldn’t help myself. I mean, look at you!

I don’t even know why I said it. I basically hit on this guy that I’ve never met before. It was like a fucking go to response. And I thought nothing of it at the time. I didn’t even fucking realize what I had said. But I remember this look coming over his face. He was completely stunned by this response. And I just turned away as if nothing happened and started screaming towards my people once again.

On to level 2. FlakJacketFucked

At this point I’m fucking all over the place. Spilling drinks and knocking glasses over. Essentially breaking these glasses which I AM FUCKING SURE WERE PLASTIC. So I don’t understand that at all. I’ve even been back there since, and all the fucking glasses were plastic.

Princess is trying to calm me down. Cause I’m being fucking loud as a Motorhead concert. Fucking obnoxious as fuck. Her critical self also being accentuated by the consumption of alcohol. And on a good day this girl can tear a person apart at the seams if she feels so inclined. She could make Obama unravel. Robert Downey Jr. would start taking drugs again. She could get Axl Rose to apologize for his crimes. I don’t exaggerate.

But her shots at me are bouncing off the bulletproof armor that is Captain Morgan. Because I am a fucking pirate.

The waitress comes back around with another bottle for us. Fucking bad news. FlipSide starts pouring the vodka straight into PornStar’s mouth. Princess and the girls are dancing at the side of the table. And, being invincible, I don’t foresee any possible downside to the action I’m about to perform.

Rooster: I can fucking take it!!!

And I straight up grabbed one of the sparklers that came with the bottle. While it was still burning. I wrapped my whole fucking hand around the motherfucker, and being drunk, held on until I actually felt the thing searing my flesh.

And then proceeded to regret doing it with all my fucking heart. I had a nice 2nd degree burn all along the inside of my hand for a while. And that’s not my only injury from the night. But I’ll get to that.

Level 3. CloudNineFucked

So this is where my memory starts fading in and out. I am completely oblivious to many of the things that occurred past this point. I was fucking drunk as fucking fuck and fuck. Its fucked.

I barely know what I was saying. What I was doing. What I was fucking thinking. I was in a state of mind where I was doing whatever the fuck I wanted, regardless of the effect it had on those around me.

Fuck everybody else, I’m Rooster.

I say that with confidence, but really. I was a piece of shit fucking hurricane of disaster and chaos. But at the time. I was in the fucking clouds. I didn’t feel embarrassed or bad about my behaviour. I was fucking living that shit like nothing in the world mattered.

I assure you. I did not need anymore alcohol. I did not need a beer. At all.

But. I super fucking really did. So Granola and I steamrolled through the crowd to the bar. And at the bar next to me, there’s two chicks. I really don’t remember if they were hot. Their faces are photoshopped into my memory as pink fucking smudges.

I nudge Granola, and turn to the pink smudge next to me. And this is what I say.

Rooster: Sooooooo. Should I be hitting on you right now or what? (Yes. Those were my exact words. No fucking joke.)

I turned back to Granola after this exchange, eyes fucking wide as fuck. I was so happy that these women didn’t understand my terrible attempt at a come on. And Granola was dying laughing. Understandably.

So from here we transition into level 4. We’re stumbling around. Crazy ass motherfucking smashed to shit. At one point we’re all standing on our benches drunkenly dancing to Paper Planes by M.I.A. Shooting our hands off like pistols with the song. Which will forever be burned into my memory.

And then we’re making our way through the crowd to leave the bar.

Level 4. TrainWreckFucked

This is where I become the worst drunk I’ve ever been. The kind of drunk people want to talk about but don’t want to remember.

Upon reaching the outdoors, I’m hit by the realization that I have left my sweater inside. This is unnacceptable. I have lost too many sweaters while out drinking. And being the completely oblivious drunk, I turn around without a word and find myself faced by a lineup outside the bar. Totally unexpected. And without even thinking about it I lift the fucking wire and climb under in front of the entire line. I have no idea how these people reacted, because I am completely in my own brain.

And then I find my way blocked. The bouncer. A fucking monster black dude. Huge. But this didn’t faze me.

Rooster: I left my sweater inside.

The bouncer looked at me. And he must have seen how fucking gone I was.

Monster: I can’t let you inside.

Rooster: I was just in there. I need my sweater.

Monster: I can’t let you inside.

And I fucking snapped. I still cannot believe I reacted the way that I did. Never in my life have I been this furious. And never have I been the angry fucking drunk. Sure, everyone knows I’m fucking loud, and fucking clumsy. And I can be a relatively angry guy, easily provoked. I’m Irish. Go figure. But the anger never comes like it did that night. And I am genuinely embarrassed about how I acted. But at the time I did not feel that way. It’s like a was a fucking man possessed. I was the fucking Incredible Rooster. And I was fucking ready to smash. First temper tantrum I’ve had since I was fucking 10.

So I snap. Next thing I know I’m screaming my fucking brain apart at the bouncer, right up in his face, jabbing my finger towards him.

This whole time my friends are trying to calm me down. The only one I remember was Princess. But to no avail. At some point this random guy, who to this day I remember being super chill about it, comes up to try and calm me. He puts his hand on my shoulder gently and says some nice words.

RandomGuy: Yo man. It’s all good bro. You gotta calm down.

Rooster: FUCK OFF. GET THE FUCK AWAY.

I actually responded that way. Buddy. If ever by chance you stumble across this blog. I am so sorry. You will forever hold a place of sorrow in my heart.

So now something had to be done. I had to be fucking stopped. Or I would have got the fuck destroyed out of me. And it’s Princess that got it done. I dunno if she worked some crazy Princess magic or just asked the bouncer. But she’s telling me she will go look for the sweater if I just wait outside.

And I shut the fuck up immediately. And I waited. I stood there off to the side glaring at the bouncer. Fucking boring holes through his fucking face. It was the most intense standoff you could possibly imagine. Except that the bouncer was not glaring back. A couple times he’d shoot a look of “What the fuck is this guy doing?” But I didn’t give a fuck. This guy fucked with my drunken mind. And stood in the way of me and my sweater. That’s a relationship you don’t get between. Apparently.

And then I got the bad news. Princess comes out and walks over to me. And as soon as she says it. She cannot find my sweater. My entire demeanor just dropped. Anger gone, energy gone, and utter fucking depression takes over.

Without a word, my face went completely blank, and I turned around and stormed the fuck away.

Level 5. HumanDisasterFucked

So here I am. Alone. Fetal position. In a dark alleyway. Completely and thoroughly broken. All because I lost my sweater. For sure there’s more to it than this. But I won’t tell you that this was after my ex peaced the fuck out, destroying me in the process. That totally didn’t happen. No no. I just lost my sweater. And MonsterBlackBouncer happened to be the unfortunate soul in the way.

But at this point in my night, I don’t even think I remember that happening. I’m the fucking drunk guy who’s almost completely unresponsive. You know that guy. We’ve all been there. And we all fucking hate it. But most of us are likely good friends, so we push past that, and nurse the emotions of the poor depressed soul that is, in this case, Rooster.

Everyone keeps calling me, and of course, I’m ignoring the calls. And then, out of the dark drunken haze that is my mind, FlipSide appears. Stumbling down the alleyway towards me. He’s somewhere between FlakJacketFucked and CloudNineFucked.

Obviously I don’t respond, because I’m a human disaster. I somehow manage to get up and stumble away with him. And sure enough, there everyone is, waiting for me with a cab.

Now you’d think this is where it finishes. But no. I can’t just fucking stop disastering. As I’m walking to the cab, while basically nobody is looking, I step into a pothole. And twist the everloving fuck out of my fucking ankle. And I hit the ground fucking screaming. A curdling fucking death scream.

And the only people that saw it, were Princess, who was laughing so hard that she couldn’t even speak, and the cab driver. And he’s tripping balls, and madly gesturing.

Cabbie: HE FALL! HE HURT! LOOK!

I don’t remember anything after this. I don’t remember getting into the cab, getting out. None of that shit. But I do remember the cherry on top. The ultimate fail ending of this disasterful night.

On the walk home, I cut through this unbelievably dark park down the road from my house. I’m on the phone with FlipSide. It’s 4 in the morning. And I have fucking no clue why we were talking on the phone. And a ways into the conversation, I disappear off the other end of the line, and all FlipSide hears is a yell, a thump, and cries of pain.

FlipSide: Rooster! Yo Rooster! What the fuck?? What happened?

Rooster: Dude. Oh my god. I fucking faceplanted the sidewalk.

So here I am. Leaving the park. And I fucking trip on lord knows what. And smash my face into the edge of the fucking sidewalk. And this, is how I end my night.

The Aftermath.

Waking up the next morning was fucked. I didn’t remember shit at first. So I completely tripped balls when I woke to blood on my face and pillow. From my fucking FACEPLANT OF GLORY. I look at my hand, burned to fucking shit. And then, as I put my feet on the ground, I fucking go right to the floor. My dead ankle completely giving way. And I had fucking no clue what was happening.

My name is Remicks, you may remember the name from the other fucking crazy stories. If you don’t, you may excuse yourself the fuck away from this page.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m going to write this blog entry for Rooster because my blog was PG the fuck 13 and his is clearly anything fucking goes. So I’m letting out my inner “fuck shit piss motherfuck bitch whores” on this bitch.

This is one of those nights that everyone who attended will remember for years to come. To set the premise I’d like you all to know that I won’t be using any fucking names during this blog because anonymity was both asked for and implied for the dignity of some of the fuckers in this story.

So one of my fucking awesome friends ended up having a house to himself for a whole fucking month – this doesn’t happen very often and much less for this fucking guys family.

We partied pretty fucking hard pretty fucking often, but one night we fuckin decided that we were going to play the game Edward 40 hands. For you boring fucks who don’t know what the fuck the fucking game is well fuck – be immature for a year and have some fucking fun. It’s about duct taping some fucking fortys to your fucking hands and not taking them off till they’re both done.

The night was young and the fucking plan was actually to have a mini show (of two local bands) for their closest friends.

And we crashed the fucking party with fortys. While the show was being played we randomly decided it’d be a fucking great idea to start cheersing one another while saying Edward every fucking time you cheersed another Edward.

“Edward” “Edward!” “Good day Edward!”

Problem is we were a fucking dozen retards holding these fortys – all wanting to piss and having tired muscles from holding the heavy fucking bottles.

The show was dope as fuck – the first band having a member that has been part of virtually every story Rooster has written.

The other band just being a group that has played together so long the complexity and dynamic of their music was just remarkable – three fucking thumbs up to both of them.

[Allow me to interject for just one moment. I, Rooster, will take the baton from this dirty mouthed fatherfucker.

I’d like to give some insight into the degree of my wasted off my life-ness.

At one point, during the collective Edward cheersing of 2012, my drunk ass broke the top of one of my fortys.

So here I am, stumbling around, taking swigs from a sharp fucking shard, when the second band starts playing “Stacy’s Mom”.

And my drunk ass flips the fuck out, swaying and smashing my way through the tiny crowd, singing “Scotty Doesn’t Know”, at the top of my lungs.

I was entirely convinced that they were playing that song, which of course, they fucking weren’t. And afterward I go up to them and convey my total mind blown happiness.

Rooster: I WAS SO FUCKING HAPPY WHEN YOU PLAYED SCOTTY DOESN’T KNOW.

Singer: (blank face) We didn’t play that…..

Rooster:………..

And now that I have ruined his flow, to pass it back to Remicks.]

By the time we were fucking done our fortys (and a picture before the removal of the fortys– that made it on TheChive.com) we got some fuckin chick to cut them off and proceed to rip off the duct tape……..along with any fucking hair we once had on our hands.

Now this is when the fucking party picked up. All those who weren’t playing forty hands still got fucked on whatever they were drinking – and the Jell-o shots came in from the outside. This was during the middle of winter in CANADA… so they were ready as fuck to get consumed. We downed those and started doing what we do best – ramble on about stupid shit and try to get others more fucked up.

By this time some random girl was at the party giving herself to any fucking guy who’d make eye contact with her. I’m not sure if she’s always fucking like that (pun?) or if she was on tongue to the face mode that night – but she looked like she was having (and looking to give) a good fucking time.

This girl starts going after the host of the party – she goes as far as drawing a chick touching herself on the whiteboard in his room. The drawing was dirty as fuck – but kudos to the effort, it’s more than my left brained ass could do on a good day. Bitch got tired because the host wasn’t down for her sloppy trunk trying to get on his junk so she moved on to her next target.

This next target – who may or may not be the author of this blog, [It was] fucking pushed the limits of this girl. They were making out and it looked like it was on from dusk till dawn. [We were] These fucking kids were basically at each other’s faces like the world was going to end.

They took it downstairs to the room where Rooster’s ex was staying (they moved in temporarily when the parents left) and he was, to quote Rooster, “Sucking on her tittys”, [I fucking was] making out and god knows what else until they got cock blocked. [Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck]

This can be looked at as fucking disgusting – but I thought it was fucking jokes as fuck, I mean how good of a moment Is it to suck on some beautiful ass titties on the current bed of your ex – and then have her the one who walks in on you?!

Golden .

Around this time there were other things happening – not fucking cool things. Some two fucking assholes were basically groping a girl who didn’t want any of it. A very rape-y sort.

When people finally stepped up and told them to fuck off, these fucking retards leave – but not without smashing a window first.

Now the host of this party can kick some fucking ass singlehandedly. But he fucking took a bat out. Shit got settled and the cops were called but he went in a blood rage and fucking punched a metal pole before he realized he had to calm down.

The party cleared out a bit after the events of those fuckheads – but the girl of the hour had yet to acquire her target for the night. This girl starts sitting on laps and probably would have taken her clothes off if she didn’t get the attention she needed.

Eventually she acquired a target and had the nerve to take him into the parent’s room for some action. This didn’t fucking go over well with the host – who somehow got more shit thrown in his face aside from the broken fucking window. He stormed in and kicked those two shitfaced retards out of his fucking house and called it a night.

This fucking night ended the relationships of a few of the attendees due to the obvious fucking reasons .